Wonderland
by deathlymarshmallow
Summary: A story about Patrick Jane and the woman who broke his heart in the worst possible way.


**I love The Mentalist and I was a big Jisbon shipper but I've really gone off them as a couple now as the story progresses and I've always found Angelick cute so I thought I'd make my first story about them. I'm new to this ship so I don't know if I've got my facts right. I've researched by watching Cackle-Bladder Blood again, reading Angelick fanfiction's and scouring the tag on tumblr so sorry to any scholar Angelick shippers if I get anything wrong. It's another prequel fic but I promise I'll put my own spin on it in later chapters. This is set when they are quite young. Patrick's about 10 and Angela's 8 or 9 and I don't know if I wrote that age believable or not. Okay, I'll stop apologising and let you get on with it. Review and subscribe if you like it so far and I'll continue! **

Patrick Jane spent most of his life running. Running around the Midwest with the carnival. Running away from his dad. Running because he was late. Running from Angela Ruskin's father. Running from show to show. Today, he was running away from a furious gardener.

It had been one of those lovely golden days in Illinois that happen when August passed into September. The carnival had been packed with marks due to the good weather and some kind of public holiday Patrick hadn't bothered to memorise. His two fully booked out shows didn't start til twilight so he'd spent the afternoon pick-pocketing any passing mark until that grew tiresome and decided to further explore the stream he had found around the place during his midnight wanderings.

Patrick snuck out of the crowded carnival and followed the bubbling stream until he came across a cobble stone wall that was thick with ivy. His small body allowed him to climb it easily. There was a huge orchard beyond and he was lucky enough to discover a tree loaded with sweet white apples – the kind that ripen early. He filled his pockets and his hat with them before a furious gardener chased him with a rake out of the orchard and over the wall.

He happily ran back to the carnival and burst into the menagerie tent with a hatful of apples. The beautiful golden haired girl had been there as he'd hoped, lying on her stomach as she painted the elephants toenails turquoise.  
"Angel!" he exclaimed happily running over to her. "Guess what I've got?"  
"Paddy," the little girl looked around worriedly. "My father will be here any moment and he doesn't like us being friends. We're supposed to be friends secretly."  
"Yes, I remember," he said ushering away her worry. "But I brought you apples. Lovely sweet ones."

He put one in her delicate palm and she took a bite from it.  
"How did you manage to find apples that weren't saturated in toffee and put on a stick?"  
"I went scrumping," he said proudly.  
Angela sighed and fed the rest of her apple to the elephant. "Scrumping is a kind of stealing."  
"Yeah," Patrick said with a mouthful of apple. "What d'yer think we do here, Angel?"

She chewed her lower lip and stood up, noticing the grass and mud stains on her blue dress and white petticoat that she detested but her parents insisted upon.

"Father's going to murder me," she fretted smoothing out the fabric.  
"You don't even like that dress."  
"But they do," she toyed with her golden curls that had escaped her hair ribbon.  
Patrick rolled his eyes and started on his second apple. "Well, I think you look pretty. Like Alice from Wonderland. But just because you're royalty here doesn't mean you have to dress like it if you don't want to. I think you'd look pretty in a paper bag."

She went red but thanked him politely before they heard her father shouting for her.  
"Will you be able to come to my show tonight?" Patrick grabbed her hand as she went to leave.  
"I don't think I can," Angela said sadly looking in the direction of her father's voice. "I need to look after the baby tonight."  
"Well, try and sneak out if you can later," he said, squeezing her soft hand. "I want to see you again."  
"Alright," she smiled exultingly. She was usually the polite, rule abiding perfect daughter but lately Patrick had been slowly corrupting her.

Angela and her one year old brother shared a bedroom. Most little girls would positively despise sharing their room with a baby but she didn't mind. She moved all her breakables and small things that he could put in his mouth on high shelves and she'd gotten so used to sleeping through her parents arguing that Danny's crying wasn't a problem.

Her mother would come in and tell Angela that she loved her more than anything in the whole world each night before Angela went to sleep. She appreciated it but it would always bother her. She thought that her mother should love her dad more than anything else. Angela could never return the sentiment as she loved her Patrick more than anyone else in the world. The only other person who could challenge that was her baby brother. So Angela just settled with telling her that she loved her too but lately just ignored her or pretended to be asleep.

Deep down, she knew why her mother didn't love her father more than her. Angela never argued with her. Or with either of her parents. There was enough arguing going on in the family without her joining in. Tonight was no exception. Her mother had come in and given her the customary hug and kiss goodnight and left, completely ignoring Danny who was googling happily to himself in his cot. This was not unusual as Angela couldn't remember ever seeing her mother hold the baby and would tuck in and kiss Danny goodnight herself.

She heard her father get home and put her pillow over her head.

"Daniel, I need you to take out this bag of diapers to the trash."  
"I will in a minute, Emily. Give me a second to breathe, I just walked in the door."  
"The bin in here is overflowing with your sons mess and I need to put it in the trash can but it won't fit. Do you want me to stand here waiting for you to breathe?"  
"Why don't you just take it out yourself if it's so urgent, Emily? It's not like you're incapable."  
"I'm not going to haul this enormous bag of rubbish across the midway and look like a pathetic wife that does everything for her husband."  
"Oh right," her father said sarcastically. "You are incapable of doing anything for _our_ son. And don't you dare. I'm out there from five in the morning til late at night trying to keep this carnival afloat while you guzzle your antidepressants and mope around doing nothing."

"Doing nothing? I'm not the one who spends half of his nights squandering money in gambling games with his buddies."  
"Just because I actually have friends, Emily, doesn't…"  
"I'm too busy raising the children that _you_ wanted, Daniel! I told you! I told you this was no lifestyle for children to be forced into."  
"Don't you blame them! You do nothing for them. Angie has to look after the baby when I'm not here because you're too self-obsessed to-"  
"Please don't have the nerve to pretend you care about them more than I do. We have the last one because the first one didn't have the Y chromosome. And you'll marry Angela off to which ever carnival benefits ours the most."

These lengthy arguments would usually happen each night about the smallest of things and get back to how unhappy her parents were. Angela felt responsible for most of them. If it hadn't had been for her mother getting pregnant with her at a young age, they wouldn't had to have gotten married to people they didn't love.

Angela kissed a sleeping Danny lightly on the head and shimmied her small body through the tiny window with her blanket and away from her parent's shouts.

The usually brightly lit and bustling carnival ground was eerie in the darkness but little Angela found it welcomely serene with only the stars and the crickets for company as she tiptoed past all the trailers. She decided to wait at the spinning tea cup ride as she could most of the carnival from that spot and would be able to see Patrick when he came.

It wasn't too long before he showed up and was able to spot her immediately snuggled up in her blanket in one of the teacups and the sight made his heart sing and the uncomfortable lump in his throat soften. It had been another fight with his dad. Patrick had gotten too confident in one of his private readings and completely blown it. He had paid for it dearly afterward.

"Hi, Paddy," she said happily scooting over so he could squeeze in next to her.  
"Hey, Angel," he smiled back trying to keep his shaky voice even.  
She let out a small gasp as the moonlight illuminated his face and her free hand came to rest on his slightly bruised cheek. The other hand had for some reason been taped to the seat.  
"You're hurt," she said sadly and the look in her eyes made him internally shatter. He gathered her hand within his own and reassured her that he was fine and he had simply fallen though he knew she was very intelligent and not as easily duped as some passing mark.

"Why is your hand all taped up like that?" he cleared his throat trying to keep the conversation off his father. Spending time alone with her was the only good part of his day and he didn't want to spoil it.  
"It is so a stranger cannot steal me while I am sleeping," she informed him.  
"You're sleeping out here again tonight?" now he looked concerned.  
"Danny is teething."  
"You're rubbish at lying, Angel."  
"As are you," she said gesturing to the bruise on his face.

"Fine," he said knowing that if it came down to a battle of stubbornness he would sorely lose. "I did a private reading after the show and stuffed it up. I told a woman her husband was in love with someone else when he's actually dead. Obviously not good. Dad got pissed and we got into a fight at home."  
"Are you okay?"  
"Yeah, I deserved it."  
"Don't say that. Don't you ever say that again."  
"Okay, I'm sorry, Angel."

She draped her blanket over him as well. "When I am in charge, you will not have to be a psychic anymore. You could leave and become an accountant or something and have a wife and a mortgage and taxes."  
"What's a mortgage and taxes?"  
"Something that normal adults have," Angela told him. "I read about it in the newspapers."  
"Well, I don't want any of that stuff if you're not there."  
She smiled and he inwardly thought that she outshone the stars.  
"So, why're you sleeping out here anyways?"  
Angela fiddled with her nightdress. "My mother and father are arguing again. They are beginning to talk about…divorce."

Her chest felt tight just thinking about it. That word – divorce – it was so ugly. Dee-_vorce. _Patrick's parents divorced a few years ago before his mother had passed away. Whenever they heard about a couple in the carnival getting divorced or even if it was people gossiping about a trashy laughable celebrity couple, Patrick would always sigh sadly like an old Irish grandmother and say; 'Ah, that's a shame."

Patrick may have been a cheating, stealing swindler but he had always believed in marriage and felt people gave up on them too easily. It was the same with his friendship with Angela. He couldn't possibly imagine being so angry at her that he wouldn't want to see her again. He once told Angela that if they ever had problems he would move heaven and earth to fix them. To Angela this was touching but unnecessary as any problem they'd ever had or will have could be solved by spending a few hours apart followed by sending a coloured in sorry card or a hug or gentle poke in the ribs that meant 'let's stop fighting now'.

She wished it could be as simple as that for her parents. Angela could feel tears begin to prick at her eyes and she scrubbed them away with her wrist determinedly. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely wrapping her up in his arms and kissing the top of her head as she sleepily curled up in his lap.

"What if I have to get married to somebody I hate? That would be so terrible."  
"That won't happen, Angel. I'll marry you first."  
She laughed tiredly. "We are too little and we are best friends."  
"When we're older we can. It'll be the same as it is now except we'll live together and hold hands and be together all the time. And then we won't have to worry about marrying horrible people because we're each other's favourite person."

"That does sound like a good idea," Angela yawned. "But what if I am not allowed to? My father doesn't even want me to be friends with you."  
Patrick sat thoughtfully and then pulled something small wrapped in cellophane out of his pocket and unwrapped it before giving it to her.  
"A candy ring from the clown game?"  
"Yeah, if I give you a ring to wear then it's like an adult pinky swear that no one can break," he said as he slid it on her finger he remembered his mother had worn her wedding ring on.

"Thank you," she said. "It is very big."  
"You can eat the candy part so it's not as heavy. We'll get real matching ones one day."  
"Okay," she said happily sucking on the cherry flavoured sweet and he held her tight as they both fell asleep contently.


End file.
